


Grapple

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Facials, M/M, Needy Dean, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Turkish Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, he wasn't alright. No part of him would ever be alright. His sanity was making a break for it and his dick was deciding to have a mind of its own at the sight of <i>Castiel</i>, former Angel of the Lord, exposing more skin he had ever seen on him, said skin gleaming in oil and perspiration from the humidity in their room, practically <i>asking</i> to be touched. Some animalistic part of him wanted to reach over and grope, get his hands all over him, <i>pin him</i> – but that was the point of what they were doing, right? Albeit for decidedly different reasons, but still.</p><p>He swallowed, throat tight – <i>you can do this, Winchester. It’s just Cas. Your best friend, remember</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapple

This was quickly going on his list of ‘stupidest hunts Sam ever sent him on.’ According to whatever idiotic website he pulled up that week, several people had had their hearts ripped from their chests and dumped in the woods outside Mammoth Mountain, presumably by one of the ever-growing packs of werewolves in the Colorado hills. It was easy – they could take them out within a couple days time at the max. What he _didn't_ know was that all of the victims were attending the yearly retreat for Turkish wrestling athletes in the United States

Hundreds of oiled up men in tight pants, fighting each other in a display he had never seen outside of certain videos he watched in his teens. The distinct lack of breasts and addition of _other_ parts had him taking pause and wracking his brain over how he could get out of it. Sam was probably laughing himself into a coma back in Kansas, the _bastard_.

Maybe that was why he sent _Castiel_ with him, too. He could have stayed in the bunker and helped sort files, but _no_ , Sam had pushed him, practically shoving him and his bags in the Impala and setting them on the way. In retrospect, he really should have suspected something was up. Never trust anyone that breathed sunshine and rainbows for hours on end. Sam was stupid – this whole _idea_ was stupid.

Still, that didn't explain why he and Castiel had pushed their twin beds to opposite sides of their motel room, locking the door behind them and drawing the blinds. The less witnesses, the better. They were undercover, Dean told himself repeatedly; they had to integrate into the gathering, learn the rules. _Participate_. That was the only reason he was sitting at the desk pushed in front of the door, greased head to toe in some grotesque mixture of olive oil and water and wearing nothing but equally soaked pants, trying his best not to slide off and onto the floor while Castiel prepared himself in the bathroom. All of it was embarrassing, being expected to—to—. He couldn't even form the words.

“We can’t just, iunno, look for the pack on our own?” Dean said through a bit-back whine, tapping his bare foot on the floor. He had read the rules on his laptop four times over, each time the realization sinking in deeper; reality was cruel. “It’s sounding like a hell of a better option.”

“You’re not chickening out, Dean,” Castiel chided through the bathroom door, something falling to the floor in a hilarious clatter. “The best way to get into their inner circle is to immerse ourselves in the sport. And to do that,” and Castiel emerged from the brightly lit bathroom into the semi-darkness of their shared room, body practically glowing in the soft light, exposing the cut of absolutely depraved hips and a physique to rival a _God_ , “we need to practice, so we can at _least_ look professional. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. No part of him would ever be alright. His sanity was making a break for it and his dick was deciding to have a mind of its own at the sight of _Castiel_ , former Angel of the Lord, exposing more skin he had ever seen on him, said skin gleaming in oil and perspiration from the humidity in their room, practically _asking_ to be touched. Some animalistic part of him wanted to reach over and _grope_ , get his hands all over him, _pin him_ – but that was the point of what they were doing, right? Albeit for decidedly different reasons, but still.

He swallowed, throat tight – _you can do this, Winchester. It’s just Cas. Your best friend, remember_?

“’M fine,” he stammered, making it to his feet without sliding off into a puddle on the floor. “Let’s get this over with, yeah? Tell me where you want me.”

“Over here’s fine.” He followed Castiel to the middle of the room, far away from any furniture or breakable objects. Hopefully the motel management wouldn't bother to ask about the newly acquired oil stains on the carpet. They faced one another, Castiel’s hands at his sides, Dean’s across his chest, hands slipping on his biceps. “You’re aware of the rules?”

“Don’t—,” his face flushed deep scarlet in an attempt to recite off the vitals, “don’t grab— _balls_ or— _fuck_ Cas, don’t make me say it.”

“You’re making this entirely too sexual. Here,” he grappled at Dean’s shoulders, the rush knocking him a step back, “start like this. Push me.”

That, he could do. Their heads bumped as Dean repeated Castiel’s technique, shoving back against his shoulders and earning another in return, the former Angel’s hand slipping to the front of Dean’s waistband, the abruptness of it dropping him to his knees in a failed attempt to cover himself. Castiel took advantage and kept him on the floor, a hand down the left side of his pants and gripping the meat of his thigh, the other pressing his neck into the musty carpeting.

 _That_ was new.

“Cas, _dude_ ,” he wheezed, torn between keeping the position and fighting back; the proximity of face-to-crotch left him writhing. “Kinda can’t breathe down here.”

“You have to fight me, Dean.” Castiel pushed down harder, voice mirthful. “You won’t last very long in bouts if you submit every time a man touches you.”

“You think I’m _submitting_?” Dean laughed into the carpeting, wrangling an arm out from underneath him and hooking it around Castiel’s leg at the knee, shifting forward with enough force to trip him up and throw him onto his back. Thank God for slippery surfaces. “How’s that for—.”

Castiel bowled him over onto his front for a second time, Dean promptly hurled into the carpet with that familiar hand down his pants, _again_. He wiggled against the hand on his neck, struggling for breath. “You’re strong, but you’re forgetting who _I_ am.”

“Startin’ to think you like havin’ your hand in my pants,” he jeered. “C’mon, get up. You got me twice.”

Castiel helped him to his feet with some accidental fondling in the form of slipping hands, the two resuming their earlier stance with hands to shoulders. Dean sneered in Castiel’s sight line, steadying his feet. “Gonna get you this time,” he taunted. Castiel pushed an arm away, brows furrowed, concentrated as ever. “C’mon, you gonna do somethin’ bout it?”

“You’re too loud.”

Castiel silenced him with a hand to the small of his back, fingers dipping with purpose below the waistband, grappling Dean’s wrist with the other and forcing him to the floor again, on his knees, arms trapped beneath him and Castiel’s fingers _entirely_ too close to his ass, coming close to skirting— “ _Cas_ — _Way_ too close.”

“Am I?” The smug bastard _pet_ him, circling his rim in an inherently intimate way. “I’m not violating any rules. I’m starting to think you _like_ being on your knees.”

“S’what if I do?” he laughed, wiggling his hips, fully expecting Castiel to back off, get back to what they were originally doing. They had the gist – they didn't have to keep going if neither wanted. But practice made perfect, right? If anything, Castiel was spurred _on_ by his apparent presentation, now pressing against his ass with more intent, fingertip teasing the puckered skin there. “ _Cas_ —.”

“Are you going to concentrate, Dean?” Castiel hummed, amused. “Or are you going to surrender to me every time I touch you?”

His face heated considerably, cheek pressed to the carpet, struggling to keep his silence and at least _act_ like he was fighting back. Castiel was persistent, though, always pushing the envelope, keeping him on the barest edge of his comfort zone until he cracked. He couldn't ignore the excitement bubbling just under his skin, the anticipation of something he knew he wanted but was too ashamed to admit to in his waking hours. Castiel had heard him in his sleep, he knew; there were only so many times they could share a bed before the inevitable came out.

Namely, his need to be _controlled_. Pushed around, pinned down, taken advantage of by someone stronger, someone that could take care of him. And all of that filtered into the man with his hands on his neck and down the back of his pants. “Do it,” he breathed, voice shaking as he spoke. “C’mon, Cas.”

“…What?”

What, had Castiel not known? Or had he been so oblivious to think that what they had _wasn't_ platonic? That wasn't what his fingers were saying, still slipping wet against his rim, a familiar warmth pressed to his thigh. “Do it, oh _God_ do it—.”

“I didn’t think you would be interested.” Castiel wasted no time in his work, the first finger sliding in deep, aided by the oil still slicking their bodies.

“Yeah, well, I _am_. You want a gold star?” Dean groaned at Castiel’s persistence, angling his hips enough to get his fingers where he wanted them, stroking over the bundle of nerves that had his legs going weak; at least he was on the floor. “You gonna— _fuck_ , pretty sure this is against the rules, Cas.”

A second finger joined the first, a deep shudder running through him and leaving him gasping into the carpet, aching to arch down and grind against _something_ , _anything_ to alleviate the ache in his dick. _Nothing_ helped, not even the stupid pants clinging obnoxiously tight to his body. What he wouldn't have given for Castiel’s leg to be closer. “I think we stopped playing by the rules five minutes ago.”

Dean agreed with a short nod. Still, that didn't stop Castiel from picking up the pace, reducing Dean to a whimpering mess in his grasp, stroking a hand down the rigid line of his spine. The dual sensations of fingers pulling out and his pants being tugged down to his thighs left him mourning the loss of touch, his cock bobbing free, thick and weeping against his belly. “You lost the match, Dean.”

“Yeah?” He turned to look back, catching the self-satisfied glint in Castiel’s eyes. “Y’gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it?”

“I intend to.” Castiel pressed a kiss to his tailbone, reaching up to palm his ass with slick hands, thumbs spreading his hole. “But do you deserve it? You allowed yourself to be pinned, Dean. I think you should show me how much you want this.”

 _This_ was new. Arousing as it was – and it _was_ , especially coming from _Cas_ – he felt part of himself shrink away, embarrassed by the kind of treatment Castiel was giving him, hands roaming over oiled skin and clutching at his thighs, biting kisses into the meat of his ass, laving over each mark with his tongue. “ _Fuck_.” He buried his face in the crook of his arm; looking at Castiel would only be admitting the _want_. “Want you to—to…”

“You can do this, Dean.” Abandoning his former method of torture, Castiel moved to drape himself over Dean’s body, taking his wrists in hand and pinning them above his head as he ground his clothed bulge over his bare ass. “Tell me what you want.” A nip to the ear, a harder thrust. “ _Tell me_.”

“Want you—want you to—.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, struggling to keep himself from _whimpering_ , hips writhing with each thrust; when had talking become so difficult? “Make me come—oh _God_ , just—want you to—to lick me open, make me come on your tongue. _Fuck_ , Cas, _please_ …”

Castiel kissed his nape before pulling away, settling back in and petting Dean’s thigh. “So good, Dean. Telling me this.” The first kiss to his rim had his face flushing bright red, not even bothering to fight back the gasp that broke free. “Can you come like this, for me?”

His answer came in the form of a drawn-out groan, Castiel licking a wet stripe across his rim once, twice, hands keeping him spread and exposed. If only the stupid pants weren’t still trapped around his thighs, he could open himself more, let Castiel in deeper. _More_ , _more_ , _more_ raced through his head after each kiss, each small nip, the feel of his tongue daring to seek entrance. Cursing only spurred Castiel on, tugging him closer by the hips, on occasion slipping forward through the oil to stroke his stomach, flank, never venturing close to his cock, throbbing now, twitching with need. “ _Shit_ , Cas, _yeah_ —make me come, wanna come for you.”

“So beautiful like this, Dean.” Castiel pressed a finger to his hole and slipped inside, just barely, drawing a shudder from him. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Startin’—to get an idea—oh _fuck_ , put it in there.” He arched up at Castiel’s insistence, thighs trembling with each slicked-slide of his finger, rocking into every stroke to his prostate. “Fuckin’—fuck me, Cas, _please_ ,” he groaned into the floor, grasping at air, the carpet, anything to keep him grounded. “Touch me, _need_ it, need you to—.”

“You can come from this.” Castiel’s hand on his hip kept him from bucking forward as a second pushed him, his tongue slipping in alongside, flicking in, out, again, again, enough to drive him mad. Somewhere in the distance, he knew he was staining the carpet, precum dripping in a near constant string; Castiel pulled out and let it drip into his palm, sliding the mess inside him and diving back in, never giving him a chance to breathe. “Come, Dean. You’re so _close_ , I can feel it.”

“Can’t,” he whined, at a loss. Tears stung the corner of his eyes; it was too much at once, too good. An assault on all senses, small actions breaking him down to his core. He needed _touch_ , though, his body, his _cock_ pleading for it, anything to help him get off, to lessen the pressure building, threatening to burst free. “Gotta touch me, c’mon—get your hand on me, _please_.” He reached back to grasp at Castiel’s hair, shoving him closer, getting his fingers, tongue deeper. “ _Please_ , Cas— _please_.”

The bastard was _smirking_ , he knew, reveling in his blatant need and never giving in, leaving him on edge and begging – _begging_ , he laughed to himself. That was what Castiel reduced him to, a mess in the middle of a Colorado motel, begging for his best friend’s cock, fingers, mouth, _anything_. All he got was a tongue in his ass and hands on his hips, pulling, forcing him closer, so much _closer_ until he was pleading, loud and long, practically riding Castiel’s face.

It wasn't a hand to his cock that got him off – it was Castiel’s hands slapping his ass that pushed him over the edge into a sharp orgasm, balls drawn tight, body tense as he spilled onto the carpet in long spurts, a strand catching his chin. He couldn't even cry out with Castiel still tonguing him, his friend finally thinking to fist his cock, oversensitivity leaving him gasping for breath and wishing he could get hard again so fast, to come until he was spent and sprawled out on the floor.

Castiel took sympathy in favor of finding his own pleasure, abruptly tearing away and flipping Dean onto his back, pants still tangled around his knees. “Dude, I’m in the _wet_ spot,” he panted, eyes wide at the sight of his best friend. Flushed, breathless, face wet, pants tented in the most obscene manner possible – Dean _wanted_ him. “ _Shit—_ come on me, Cas. Fuck my mouth, c’mon—.”

Castiel had never moved that fast before, straddling his shoulders in record time and unlacing the stupid strings of his pants, pulling himself out and fisting his cock within reach of Dean’s tongue. He wanted it in him, wanted the thickness on his tongue and down his throat, the taste of him in his mouth. And Castiel _denied_ him, one hand tugging Dean’s head back as he jerked himself off, smirking all the while. “You don’t get this, Dean,” he growled. “You _lost_.”

 _Fuck_. “Lemme— _c’mon_ , Cas, _want_ you—I’ll be _good_ —.” Castiel’s grip tightened in his hair in retaliation, his other hand speeding up in quick bursts and pressing the head to Dean’s lips; Dean watched him come, stroking a hand up the straining flesh of his stomach, thigh, mouthing at the plummy head of his cock before Castiel tugged him away a final time and spilled across his face, over his eye, cheek, down his chin and lips. “ _Fuck, Cas._ ”

Realization didn't dawn on him until Castiel had moved to lie next to him, chest still heaving, a fine sheen of sweat joining in with the oil still drenching his skin. They were going to have a _hell_ of a time getting it all off. “So,” Dean breathed, licking at the cum on his lips, “we—we _did_ that.”

“Do you regret it?” Castiel turned to look at him, reaching over to pet Dean’s stomach, toying with the spots of white there.

“Nah,” he shrugged. “Long time comin’, anyway. Probably gonna get hard every time I look at olive oil, though. ‘M gonna _kill_ Sammy when we get done, he’s probably laughin’ his _ass_ off.”

“You should thank him.” Castiel kissed the corner of his mouth, eyes half lidded. “We could have been doing this much longer if it weren’t for—.”

“Okay, okay, yeah. We missed out on a _ton_ of sex, don’t need to bring up the past.” He sat up, grimacing at the sticky mess on his back. “You couldn't’ve flipped me the _other_ way?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for being in the _moment_. You look good in my cum, though.”

“ _Dude_ , you can’t just _say_ shit like that!” He reached up to wipe the mess from his face, Castiel’s grip on his wrist stopping him. “What?”

Sitting up, Castiel moved to lick at his face, swallowing down his cum with a content hum. “I want more of you. We don’t have to go to the retreat until tomorrow afternoon.”

His dick took immediate interest in the thought, twitching, still half hard against his thigh. “Mm, wanna take it to the bed?”

“We’ll get the sheets dirty.”

“We got two beds.” Hand to his nape, Dean drew him into a kiss. “’Sides, I wanna see what it’s like gettin’ fucked into the mattress like this.”

Castiel motioned to the bed, lips curled into a grin. “Go get on your stomach.”

**Author's Note:**

> First off, horrorfemme introduced me to the wonderful world of Turkish wrestling and told me I needed to write it, so YOU'RE WELCOME, ECKC. Secondly, part of the rules says that you're not supposed to grab your opponents balls or "invade his rectum." More rules are [here](http://www.turkishwrestling.com/rules-and-customs/) :D
> 
> Enjoy! For once I don't have a title based on a song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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